


In the Dark

by LilyEllison



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Black Mask Smut, Episode: s03e01 Resurrection, F/M, Sad Ending, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-19 21:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEllison/pseuds/LilyEllison
Summary: She had taken one mask away and she was dying to know what was under the next, the one that he couldn't remove. She wanted to strip him down to the essence, the way he seemed to do with her so easily, tasting whiskey on her lips from across the room, laying bare her body’s secrets.Picks up after the end of the flashback scene from 3x01 Resurrection.





	In the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> So....this is not really plausible, but my little gremlin brain couldn't let go of the tension in the flashback scene and just had to play it out.
> 
> Thanks as always to [Quietshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quietshade/pseuds/Quietshade) for putting up with me!
> 
> Angsty Karedevil feels provided by Billie Eilish’s [When the Party’s Over.](https://youtu.be/b6WNdcZpDhQ)

“Can I see the other one?” Karen asked slowly, looking back down at the red and black suit in Matt’s closet.

He didn't make her explain what she meant. He knelt to dig into the chest and she found herself watching his hands. Her own fingers burned from where he'd held them over his heart.

He pulled it out, finally, the plain black mask, and stood to offer it to her. She didn't move to take it.

"Can you...put it on?" She swallowed nervously. It seemed less weird to ask about this one than the hard helmet with its burning eyes and strange horns.

And it wasn’t that she didn’t believe him. Right now, it felt like pretty much the only thing she could trust that she knew about Matt Murdock was that he was Daredevil. But she needed to see it happen, to see Matt become the Mask. If he was really giving it up — could he? _should_ he? — this was her chance.

He hesitated. "Karen—"

"Please."

Matt let out a breathy, humorless laugh and did as she asked. Maybe wanting to actually see this wasn’t fair, given who she was dealing with. But they were way beyond fair at this point.

Even though she was watching as he put the mask over his face, Karen still bit her lip at the sight of him, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, her defender in the rainy alley, the man who had appeared out of nowhere to save her life. (The one who must’ve known she was lying and followed her, the one who had hidden who he was as she got closer and deeper, until her own damn life felt itchy and wrong without him in it.)

He took a half-step toward her and she held her breath, an unexpected chill coursing down her spine. She wasn't afraid of him, but it was all rushing back, that knife and the blood and the terrible moment when he crashed through the window, a guardian angel who fell to the earth. For her.

Matt reached up to take the mask off, clearly sensing her distress, and she felt a flare of annoyance, a simmering in her blood that pushed back the fear. He could hear her heartbeat, sense her trembling, and she couldn’t hide how vulnerable she was before him.

"Wait," she said, and his hands stilled, dropped back down to his sides.

She was the one to finish closing the distance between them. She raised her own hands to his face, letting his beard tickle her palms for one breathless moment before she pushed them up, up into his hair, stripping the mask away herself.

His whole face was a question. He didn't get it, what she was after, the wild swing of her emotions. How could he, when even she didn't understand them? His body was tense and electric, so much power smoldering beneath his skin. That wasn’t new. She’d always known it was there, even if she hadn’t known exactly how he used it.

She felt a gritty kind of satisfaction at throwing him off his game a little, getting away from the talking points he had probably rehearsed in his head. She was taking a tiny step toward regaining her footing after his revelation knocked her on her ass, and suddenly her curiosity was swelling again. She had taken one mask away and she was dying to know what was under the next, the one that he couldn't remove. She wanted to strip him down to the essence, the way he seemed to do with her so easily, tasting whiskey on her lips from across the room, laying bare her body’s secrets.

Her hands were still in his hair and the pressure was building, the same tension that she had tried to dissipate earlier by tugging her hand out of his grasp. But neither of them were pulling away this time.

They were breathing the same air but it wasn't close enough. She needed to see him with her eyes closed. There was something bubbling up from the black hole in her chest that she couldn’t keep back and she gave into it and she—

She kissed him.

She kissed him.

She kissed him, hot and hard, desperately hungry for the truth of him. Not his words but the taste of them. Not his promises but his scars.

And it was different from before — not achingly sweet or blushing but raw. Potent. And it wasn’t better, but in this moment, it was truer. He pressed closer to her, and she didn’t even try to restrain herself, her hands running all over him, and she was tugging up on the hem of his sweater when he pulled away from her mouth.

“Karen,” he said, almost choking on his surprise.

But she was sick of hesitation, tired of wondering what had held him back. Was it his secret or was it just her?

_I will never lie to you again_ , he’d said. _Ask me anything_ , he’d said.

She slid her hand up over his chest to his heart and held it there, as he’d done before. His handy-dandy lie detector.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked quietly, closing her eyes.

He took in a shaky breath and the tension turned razor-sharp. But, then—

"No," he whispered. “God, no.”

And she had her answer. She even believed it this time, though she couldn’t tell a thing from his goddamn heart except that it was still beating. She just stood there, reeling, not sure what—what the fuck was she even doing?

But she had opened the door and now he walked right through it, his mouth sliding against hers again, pulling her in, pulling her under.

Her hands remembered, even as her head went fuzzy, her desperate need to uncover his skin. They traveled slowly down each curve and plane of his torso and then _oh god yes_ up and under his sweater as his kisses stuttered wildly against her lips. And then finally she’d gotten the sweater off of him and she wanted to _look_ but she was too drunk on his mouth to pull away for long enough. Instead, she mapped him with her fingertips, tracing lightly over every scar she found, feeling guilt stab through her as if she had personally carved each one into his skin. _For me for me for me_.

But before it could break the spell, he was distracting her with his open mouth on her ear, on her jaw, on her neck, and the flood of her desire brought her hands back up into his hair. He pulled her hips toward him as his teeth bit gently into the swell of her shoulder and she felt him hardening against her.

And _this_ , she wanted this, she wanted _him_ , and her body was screaming almost as loudly as her heart. Her fingers found his waistband and she was opening him up to her, but before she could do much more than that, he was guiding her hands up around his shoulders and dancing her backward toward the couch.

He pulled her down into his lap, his hands sliding to her ass as she straddled him and _oh_ , that felt _incredible_ , and then he was attacking the buttons of her dress and popping open the clasp of her bra to get his mouth on her breasts. She mumbled his name incoherently as his tongue swirled and his teeth scraped and she wanted _more_. She clutched his neck and rocked against him, soft moans falling from her lips at the feel of him between her thighs. Being this close, with just a couple of tantalizingly thin layers between them, was like a blissful kind of torture. Soon, it was too much, and he laid her back on the cushions and she dragged the skirt of her dress out of the way as his head traveled up her legs. He stopped to press his mouth against her panties and just breathe, but she was burning right through the last tiny shreds of patience she could find. And blessedly, he wasn’t going to make her wait anymore. He hooked his fingers on either side of her underwear and dragged them away and then his mouth found her, his tongue dipping and his fingers gliding, and it didn’t take long at all before _fuck, yes_ , she was coming apart beneath him.

They were both panting, chests heaving, and god she still wanted _more_. “Matt, do you have—?” she whispered. And he chuckled softly and disappeared, leaving her there, splayed out on his couch, her hair fanned around her, glowing but not yet sated. She had a moment to think again then — _this is crazy, what am I_ doing _?_ — but before she could fully surface from the underwater quality of her lust, he was back with the condom and she was drowning again.

He hovered over her, kissing her, and she was pulling at his shoulders. “Now,” she murmured against his lips, “now.” And like her, he was still partially dressed and she wanted to smile at their haste, but she could feel the hourglass sand falling through her fingers and she spurred him on. And then he was inside her and it was…it was...

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You feel…”

He pressed his face to hers and she was carried away by the power of it, of how they fit together, of what they would be if they could only be together.

This Matt wasn’t quite the man she thought she knew or the vigilante that she thought she didn’t. He was just himself. And, for this single moment at least, he was hers.

Her voice kept babbling _yes_ and _please_ and _more_ and somehow every time he delivered, the _more more more_ she wanted. The couch was narrow beneath her and she worried once that they would fall off, collapse in a tangle of limbs on the floor, but he kept her anchored.

He kept her safe.

  


Afterward, she held him to her greedily and he nuzzled his lips against her neck, repeating her name like a prayer. She willed the world away for just a few more moments, but eventually they had to let go.

He pulled back and she sat up and he gave her the shadow of a sheepish smile. And she loved him. She couldn’t deny anymore that she’d loved him before she learned his secret, and that she loved him still, loved him with every last shard of her broken heart.

She loved Matt. But she wasn’t sure she could forgive him. And now she _was_ sure he could never, ever forgive her.

_Maybe you should judge—a killer—you should judge—a killer—maybe you should—_

The cold-water splash of the words in her head made her turn away as Matt moved toward the bathroom. She pulled her clothes back into place, began to button up. She found her underwear on the floor. Scrambling back into them seemed even more undignified somehow, so she stuffed them into her pocket. 

He returned just moments later, his pants on properly but still shirtless. Her throat ached just to look at him. She had managed to put herself back together outwardly, but inside she was falling apart. Her need to _know_ had overridden caution, overridden sense. And now she had to let him go, no matter how much it hurt them both.

Matt's face fell as he took her in, her tense posture, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“Will you—you could stay,” he offered, his voice unsteady.

She felt tears threatening in the back of her throat, so she didn’t speak. Instead, she brought her fingers to his chin and gave him one more kiss, knowing he’d be able to taste the goodbye in it. 

_Is this what we are now?_

“Karen, I’m…”

“Don’t say sorry,” she said thickly. “Not about this.” She cupped his cheek and smiled sadly, even though it probably didn’t make any difference. "I just need...time. I'll let you know when—when I'm ready."

Then she left the apartment, left him alone with his ghosts, left him to go back to her own.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far....I'm so sorry!


End file.
